


my wasted heart will love you

by pneumatics



Series: liquid courage [1]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Charles Being Concerned, Christmas Fluff, Erik is a Big Dorkface, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, erik is like super wasted, he barely remembers it in the morning kind of wasted not just drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8986453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pneumatics/pseuds/pneumatics
Summary: There’s peace in the early hours of the morning. It comes and goes in the smell of the dewy air, and reflects off of silently changing traffic lights. Charles has no idea where it is right now, because the only thing he feels as he looks at Erik’s prone figure in his passenger seat is overwhelming panic.(It also feels a little bit like love, which leads to more panic, and panicking is one of Charles’ favorite pastimes. Coincidentally, Erik is the source of all of the panicking, and feelings, and emotions, and he’s praying to capital-G God because he’s driving his unconscious crush home at 4:30 in the morning.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Unearthlydust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unearthlydust/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [моё сердце будет слепо любить тебя/my wasted heart will love you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9047930) by [SylvanInmate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanInmate/pseuds/SylvanInmate)



“Erik, you are drunk,” Charles says firmly as he attempts to maneuver a seatbelt over Erik’s entirely unhelpful body. There’s just _something_ about two hundred pounds of dead weight that makes it difficult to be a responsible DD.

“No, ‘m not,” Erik mutters, “you just don’t like me having fun.” Charles rolls his eyes. If Hank were here, Erik would be strapped in and ready-to-go before Charles could say _mutation_ , but Hank wasn’t here. Hank was shirking his best friend duties in favor of grinding with the angry blond guy he found an hour ago. Yes, it was Alex Summers, but still. The nerve.

“You were having too much fun,” he quips. “Move, so I can get this - like I was saying,” He presses on when Erik starts to protest. “ _dancing on tables_ is too much fun.” Erik grumbles a little and crosses his arms.

“You liked watching it,” he says under his breath. Charles chooses not to reply to that, and reddens slightly at the grin growing on Erik’s previously pinched face. “Admit it,” he says gleefully, “you liked watching me!” Charles finally, _finally_ , gets Erik’s seatbelt adjusted and secured, and leans back.

“So did everyone else,” he huffs, focusing his attention on reversing out of his parking space. Erik giggles madly for a minute.

“Charles Xavier, my dude, my pal, I did it for _you_ ,” he croons, before heaving in a deep breath and passing out against the window. There’s a pause.

“Drunk,” Charles says softly, and jams the key into the ignition with a little more force than necessary.

 

Erik snores.

-

 

There’s peace in the early hours of the morning. It comes and goes in the smell of the dewy air, and reflects off of silently changing traffic lights. Charles has no idea where it is right now, because the only thing he feels as he looks at Erik’s prone figure in his passenger seat is _overwhelming panic_.

 

(It also feels a little bit like love, which leads to more panic, and panicking is one of Charles’ favorite pastimes. Coincidentally, Erik is the source of all of the panicking, and feelings, and _emotions_ , and he’s praying to capital-G God because he’s driving his unconscious crush home at 4:30 in the morning.)

 

Charles finds that if he focuses on the road in front of him, he can pull together some semblance of stability. So he watches the road, hums along to the radio he doesn’t remember turning on, and tries to figure out what he’s supposed to do. Erik lives on campus at Columbia, which is ten minutes away. But he lives on the third floor of a building with no elevators, and Charles doesn’t particularly like stairs. Of course, the other option is taking Erik to the off-campus apartment he shares with Hank, which is the same distance, but requires considerably less effort to carry drunk people into.

 

(Charles pretends that the idea of Erik sleeping in his apartment isn’t enticing. He’s an adamant enforcer of consent.)

 

The decision is made when Charles wrestles the car into the exit leading to his own home at the last possible second. The car jostles, and Charles grits his teeth. Taking Erik to his apartment doesn’t make him a bad person. He’s being _responsible_. But he hates that the lines are starting to blur in his head.

 

Erik mumbles a singular “ow.”

-

 

It goes like this:

 

Charles Xavier is sitting in the library, minding his own business, when a tall stranger drops his books onto the table in front of him.

“I’m Erik,” the stranger says. _You’re beautiful_ , is what Charles thinks. But what he says instead is his name.

 

It goes like this:

 

Erik Lehnsherr is beautiful, but is also funny, and passionate, and the absolute _worst_ at Mario Kart. He is great at sketching but can’t watercolor to save his life. He insists on wearing turtlenecks even in sweltering heat because his mother once told him that it compliments his body structure (she’s right). He hates small talk but loves his friends fiercely, and would spend hours praising them if he had the chance. He doesn’t believe in himself as much as he should, but works harder than anyone Charles has met.

 

It goes like this:

 

Hank has been studying for a test that he won’t take for another week and a half. It’s been eight hours of not eating, and moving only to use the bathroom, and frankly, it’s pathetic.

“You need to get laid,” Erik says, walking inside with a bag of chips and no sympathy. Hank chokes on his water, and Charles raises an eyebrow. Erik flops down on the couch, crinkling loose note paper.

“No classes tomorrow,” he says, munching on a chip, “let’s go out tonight.” Hank stares at him before reaching out to grab the chips.

“I need to get laid,” he echoes. Erik smirks.

“You’re coming too, Charles,” he says. Charles sighs.

“I’m the DD, aren’t I?” he says, and it’s okay, because he’d be mothering his friends even without Erik asking. Erik grins.

“Let’s learn something new tonight,” he says to no one in particular.

 

It goes like this:

 

Charles learns that Erik Lehnsherr is the _biggest fucking lightweight_ in the entire world.

-

 

“Merry fucking Christmas!” Erik slurs, as he takes another swig of his third (maybe fourth? Charles is unsure) alcoholic _something_. Hank makes a noise of approval as he sips daintily at his martini. Trust Hank to be an enabler when alcohol is involved.

“Erik, December’s barely begun,” Charles yells over the pounding bass of the music. His own shirt is half-untucked, his hair mussed, and they’ve only been at the bar all of ten minutes. Erik grins, all shark-like and full of intent.

“I don’t care,” he says, leaning in closely, “they say miracles happen at Christmas.” Charles gulps and Hank snickers, sloshing his drink around. Erik lingers a moment in Charles’ personal space, before leaning back with an amused look. Charles feels like he has to fan himself. Or faint. Or both.

“The only miracle I need is holding onto my sanity,” Charles mutters, before untucking the rest of his shirt and loosening a button. Erik’s eyes latch onto the motion, and he swipes a tongue over his bottom lip messily. Charles catches the action, and flushes. “You also need to get laid,” he says mildly. Erik’s eyes heat up before he turns away to the bar.

“I do,” he says, “and also alcohol. I need it.” Charles rolls his eyes as Erik calls the bartender over.

“You’re so _obvious_ ,” Hank comments while wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “I’m going to go have some drunken sex.”

“Shut up, Hank,” Charles grumbles. “As if anyone would want to sleep with the walking interpretation of the human genome.”

“I’m apparently super hot when I lose the sweater vest,” Hank smirks and walks away. Charles considers it; Hank, wearing a tight grey t-shirt and dark jeans, looked exceptionally good looking, and all, but it was _Hank_. Ew. He’d rather strip naked and walk around campus.

“Occasionally, I think about it too,” Erik says, and Charles _doesn’t_ startle, he doesn’t. Erik’s eyes are trained on Hank’s backside and there’s a smirk playing on his lips.

“What, fucking Hank?” Charles asks. Erik shrugs.

“Only when I’m lonely,” he answers, “but he’s not my type.”

 _What is your type_ , is what Charles is going to say, but he already knows. He’s met Magda, and Rebecca, seen countless clueless men wandering from Erik’s dorm, and had tea with the last one. It’s a little heartbreaking, and all that, but Charles has accepted his place in Erik’s life as - well - just friends.

“It’s amazing how much our standards change when we’re horny,” he remarks instead, and they share a laugh, Erik being all teeth and boozy fervor.

“Apparently it’s not just us,” Erik points out after a moment. “Look.”

Charles turns to see Alex Summers - Columbia’s most sought after soccer player - pressed up against Hank’s lanky body.

“Well, that’s just…” he trails off. Erik snickers, and orders another drink; Charles didn’t notice him finish the last one.

Hank has his tongue down Alex Summers’ throat now. Charles is beginning to regret the whole sobriety deal.

-

 

The pavement is lightly dusted with snow when Charles pulls up in front of his apartment. Erik is snoring lightly against the passenger side window, his breaths making small clouds of fog on the glass.

“Erik, we’re home,” Charles says gently. He ignores the pang it sends through him. _We’re home_. “Erik,” he lightly jostles his shoulder. Erik remains still.

 _Great, he died of alcohol poisoning_ , says the anxiety-induced voice in his head.

“You’re asleep,” he sighs. Erik snores. “I have to carry you,” he grouses, “Great.”

 

It takes a bit of give-and-take; mostly, trying to get the door open without making Erik fall out of the car, but Charles manages. Erik isn’t light, but Charles throws javelin for the track and field team. His arms have handled their fair share of strain.

Of course, there’s the matter of bridal-carrying Erik over the threshold of his apartment, like some newlywed couple on their honeymoon.

 

(Obviously, Erik’s unconscious, so it’s nothing like that, but _still._ )

 

Charles unlocks and kicks his door open precariously before running back to his car to pick Erik up. Erik groans softly at being moved, but willingly slings his arms around Charles’ neck. He’s awake now, but only slightly so, as he keeps his eyes squeezed shut. Charles grunts as he lifts Erik out of the car, his muscles tensing with the weight.

“So strong,” Erik mumbles, as Charles checks the car door shut with his hip.

“It’s a good thing, isn’t it,” Charles says as he walks up to his stairs. Snow lands on Erik’s nose and he scrunches his face up - before tucking it into Charles’ neck.

“Warm,” Erik says, muffled. Charles has to refrain from dropping Erik.

“Cold,” he says in response, but makes no move to adjust Erik’s cold nose from his neck. The stairs are tricky, what with Erik latched onto Charles like an inconvenient appendage, but they make it up. At this point, Charles’ can admit that he is slightly flustered by the way Erik is wrapped around him. He kicks the door shut and toes his shoes off, trying to think _pure_ thoughts as he _carries Erik Lehnsherr to his bedroom_.

 

It’s nothing like what it sounds like. Seriously, Charles needs to get out of his own head before he goes mad.

 

He sets Erik down on his bed, and goes about untying his shoes and tossing them into the corner of the room. He leaves for a moment to go find another blanket, and when he returns, Erik’s sleepily peeling off the rest of his clothes. Thankfully, because Charles honestly was going to leave him in his jeans for fear of crossing boundaries. He’s clearly taking the couch tonight.

“Erik,” he calls softly, once he seems to have situated himself under the covers. Erik hums and tilts his head in Charles’ direction.

“Hello, love,” he smiles dopily. Charles resists the urge to melt in his place. Drunk Erik was becoming ridiculously cuter by the second.

“I’m going to the couch; there’ll be aspirin and water in the morning,” he says. Erik makes a face.

“You aren’t staying with me,” he whispers, and _oh_ , Charles is weak, but Erik is _drunk_.

“I’ll just be outside,” he reassures him. “Don’t worry.” Erik’s expression clears.

“Okay,” he says. Then, “Goodnight, Charles. I love you.”

Charles freezes.

“I love you too,” he says quietly. Erik opens his mouth obstinately.

“ _No_ ,” he presses, “I _love_ you, love you.” There’s a passing moment where all Charles can do is stare.

“I love you too,” he repeats, and it’s barely audible, but it’s there. Erik grins.

“A Christmas miracle,” he proclaims softly, then snuggles deep into the blankets and dozes off. Charles stands there for a moment longer.

“Drunk,” he mutters.

 

But he’s smiling too.

-

 

_end._

**Author's Note:**

> merry christmas y'all :)


End file.
